


Death and Flowers

by hisorako, NoPajamasGurl



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, F/M, Greek AU, Greek Mythology - Freeform, and belle is obvi seph, in which hades is obvi rumple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisorako/pseuds/hisorako, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoPajamasGurl/pseuds/NoPajamasGurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What would you have of me, my lord?"<br/>“All of you,” said he, a terrible fierceness graven on his face but for the gentleness with which his eyes caught hers, “save that which you keep from me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death and Flowers

In a far-gone age, men worshipped gods who were like men: flawed, soiled, and sometimes wrong. Oh, but were these gods feared, with feasts and wars. One god in particular struck terror into men's hearts. His name was Hades, and he was the lord of the Underworld and the king of the dead and the riches that abounded beneath the earth.

With such power and wealth came influence even in the realm of the living, and Hades would sometimes make clandestine visits to the gods of Olympus, the place above earth. It was on one such occasion that he met the most important being he ever laid eyes on: the goddess who could make death fall at her feet.

Flowers. So many flowers. They were one of her favourite things, and why shouldn't they be for she was the Goddess of Spring? Persephone, who loved more than anything to explore fields of flowers and eternal spring, knelt now, a patch of daises at her feet. Her nimble fingers brushed against the petals and, for just a moment, her nurse maids were not hovering in the shadows, waiting for the moment to take her away. Away to a life under the sun of her mother.

The nymphs that usually buzzed at her temple napped now in the long grass and Persephone debated whether she could also sleep for a little while. Instead, she plucked a flower and wound it through her hair behind her ear.

Hades had been returning from an engagement with Hermes, the messenger god and patron of travellers and thieves. There'd been messes to sort out between him and Nemesis, but no one was better at that than the god who held the River Styx in his domain. At the edge of the wood where Hermes had met him, he paused at the sound of gentle breathing and the rustling of soft grass. The forest always made him queasy, for where was the king of the dead to feel more uncomfortable than in the birthplace of life and life-givers?

More out of spite than appreciation, he deigned to come close to spy on whatever frivolous creature was prowling the land. From behind bushes, he snuck a glance at the shape, and found himself at a loss.

She was a woman if there ever was one, her form lovely and feminine, her lips red as the flowers around her. Dainty and petite, she moved gracefully through the garden. For all the human charm that presented itself in her, there was the godly glow as well, the one that forced him to wonder over which realm she reigned. He had never seen her at his annual attendance at Olympus on the darkest and shortest day of the year, the Winter Solstice. She was not one of his brothers or sisters. His mind sought explanation for this ethereal beauty when it alit upon the only possibility: she was Persephone, goddess of spring.

Something ominous spread through the little goddess and a tickling sensation crept up the back of her neck. The nymphs themselves woke up and flew straight to the long tangle of dark hair cascading down her back. Spooked, Persephone stood and whirled around looking into the woods with narrowed eyes. Shadows it seemed, but she was not easily discouraged. She took a tentative step forward and the nymphs fled. "Who's there?" she demanded, as bravely as she could.

Remaining silent, Hades refused to make himself known by her terms. Anything he would do would be done his way and for himself. Fading into the shadows, he appeared behind her. "Names are powerful. It would not do to have them fall into the wrong hands, would it not, Lady Persephone?"

In stark contrast to the day's light, the words rumbled darkly, crackling with a wild energy. Tucking a lock of her soft hair away from her radiant face and behind her ear, he rasped, "What business does my lady have with me?"

His voice at her ear makes her jump. She recognizes him immediately, this dark god of Shadows and Death. Had she been a mortal, she would have known he was here for her life. Because she was not, she wondered over his presence.

The words he spoke were venomous and she ought to be frightened by him, but she is intrigued by his voice. Her eyes widen at his touch, not because of his forwardness, but because it is not unwelcome. "You came to me, sir."

He caught the recognition in her gaze, but could not decipher the tone of her sweet voice. "You know me," stated he. Searching her face for flickering signals of her emotions, he kept his own impassive.

There was no fear written between her lovely eyes, bluer than the most vibrant delphinium. Though terror was of the war god Ares' realm, Hades had no need of Phobos or Deimos to tell him that. Her hands did not curl into fists, and anger did not evoke tremors in her shoulders.

"Are you not frightened, child?"

Persephone was not an imbecile. She knew exactly who he was...and what he could do. At his statement, her chin lifted defiantly and she kept her eyes on him. One was not to be intimidated, or at least that is the mantra Persephone repeated in her head. Surely, Hades was only passing through.

His question gives her cause to roll her eyes, but she keeps the unsolicited action at bay and merely retains her staredown. "I am not," she lied easily, or not so easily as her lower lip trembled with the words.

"I fear nothing, Lady Persephone." His eyes flashed, and the darkness within them held the desperation of the dead and the cold condescension of the wealthy. His arm dropped, and Hades retreated into himself.

A waif of a girl, however perceptive, should not have frightened him. It was he who evoked panic in others. But, as his heartbeat (a sound ordinarily too soft to be heard even by the ears of the beasts) grew louder, he wondered what strange enchantment made him at once venerate and despair at her little form. It was beyond her divine comeliness and her sharp wit, that much he knew.

"Men and beast and even gods fear me. Why would you consider me any differently?"

"Surely you must fear something," the girl insisted. "Even the terrifying Lord of the Underworld is terrified by one thing or another." A small hand came up to rest on his chest, a pale stark contrast to the dark of his armour.

"I would not think you any differently, my lord. You are a terrible and unforgiving god," and if that sounded mocking, well, it was said with a wide smile that disguised her terror - for surely he would make an example of her for mouthing off.

"Unforgiving to those who would seek to make sport of me," replied he. But her warm demeanour and her hand against his armour did little soothe him. Indeed, some undoubtedly soft part of him wondered if she could feel his heart leap at her touch.

Narrowing his eyes against her touch, Hades concealed his discomfort and perhaps pleasure. To concede such sentiments would be to give her the upper hand and, with many more enemies than allies, this world was a danger to a god of his nature. "From what terror do you seek refuge, daughter of Demeter?"

Persephone retreated, but only a little, dropping her eyes to the ground and bowing her head in a sign of repentance. "I do not make sport of you, my lord," she murmured in a rush, her eyes fixed on his boots.

"My mother," was also said quickly and without thought, and Persephone raised wide eyes to Hades. She had not meant to say that, for now he could use her true fear against her as many of the other gods believed him to do. "The ruination of Spring," she added hastily, hoping to keep his attention on the most obvious of her nightmares.

"So much less of a child is the one afraid of her own parent," he said quietly, closing his eyes against the memories of the years spent in Kronos' dank belly. "Especially when rightfully so."

Gazing at her serious eyes (ones too old for one so young), he brought his arm back up to her face, cupping her soft cheek in his rough hand. "'Ruination of spring'? Is that any less than the corruption of innocence?" His eyes were dark and heavy with intent, shining with the darkness of the Styx.

She watched his face as he spoke, enthralled with the sharp angles and edges, and the deep drawl of his voice almost lulled her to sleep. Except his words warmed her and her eyes did not widen when he touched her face, rather she leaned into him. Her own hand reached up to his cheek, cool and hard under her palm, and she pitied him. He must be lonely, she thought.

"They are the same," she agreed. She wondered over this situation, marveled over it. Mother... well, she did not think of Mother. No, she thought of a much different kind of Shadow - the consuming and all-encompassing one that stood before her.

Her reception to his forward declaration astonished him. For all his wealth and influence, he was despised, and he shouldered that burden with a mask of indifference. No woman on the earth nor on Olympus nor in the Underworld would want a man such as Hades. Few would deign to associate with him, much less anything more. But this celestial being would want him? That was something his clever mind could not comprehend.

Taking her warm hand from his cheek (the absence worse than the anger of the wind gods), he kissed the tips of her delicate fingers and the little spaces between tenderly. "And of such corruption do you fear still?"

His kisses shocked her more than his hand on her cheek and she inhaled sharply, her eyes clouding over. She wanted him, she could tell, and it should be disgusting. It should not be at all. But she did and it confused her. Because of this confusion (and not because it was wrong), Persephone tugged her hand from his and cradled it with her other against her chest.

"No. I do not fear that. Not if the corrupter cared for me deeply," said she with an air of regalness, despite her position. "Tell me what you want, Hades. Surely you are not here merely to converse with a lowly Spring goddess."

"What matters brought me to this place bear little importance now." Hades' eyes, darker than Tartarus, grew darker still at her words. Those and her gasp provided all the evidence he needed to draw the impossible conclusion: she could give herself to a monster.

"I have found a new purpose," said he, elevating his tone to that of a matching nobility. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he gazed upon her. "One for which I care deeply."

Persephone wanted to laugh, but it caught in her throat as the meaning behind his words come to her suddenly. The hands at her chest now spread out in front of her protectively, not yet pressing to his armour again. Not yet begging space between them because, indeed, she desired him still.

"Please, my lord. I am only a Spring goddess. You do not want me," she said, yet there was fire in her eyes and she wanted to draw closer to Hades, for a shadow needed light in order to exist and Persephone was willing.

His hand traced phantom circles on her cheek as it trailed down to her lips. Her hands against his chest felt heavy, but it was a weight he could bear with gladness, his heart fit to chase Apollo's chariot from horizon to horizon.

"Do you not want me?" asked the god of the Underworld. Indeed, he could see a spark in her, but such a tiny thing was but a drop in the river of desire that coursed through him.

Persephone laughed now. "What does it matter? I am to leave soon and return to my mother. We will not meet again." Her voice is tinged with a sadness, a longing. Her hand came up and clasped his at her mouth, pushing it away. She did not let go, merely laced her fingers with his and smiled up at him. "Do not forget me, Lord Hades, as I will not forget you." A goodbye, yet she did not move to step away or relinquish her hold on his hand.

A silent fury crept into the crevasses of his heart. Demeter had no power over him, and he was free to come and go as he pleased. Who was she to keep him from this sweet girl?

His quick mind working, he began to spin a scheme, one that would keep the seemingly inevitable parting from taking place. "Lady Persephone. Of what shall I ever forget? This goddess who creates beyond her own beauty yet fears her mother. Why fear your mother? Of what right would she keep me from you?"

The change in his demeanor both frightened and captivated her and Persephone wondered if perhaps someday she could evoke such feelings in a being. She wondered if she could accomplish such a task with Hades at her side - not above her, but beside her.

"I would keep myself from you, my lord," said Persephone with a wicked glint in her eye. "As for forgetting me, do you mean to say that I should not fear my mother? Why should I not?"

"You would keep yourself from me, my lady?" His eyes narrowed, he caught the teasing in her eyes, but it did little assuage him. As obstinate as he was, he loved himself little and vanity was far from a friend. Bringing her hand to his amour-clad chest, Hades' own mischief permeated his usual grim expression. "You should not. For what child should fear one's own mother, one who holds no court in the domain of another?"

"I would," she challenged, amused by him despite the lingering trickle of fear in her gut. She did not know why she was terrified, other than the ideas put in her head by Apollo and the other younger gods. His last statement and questions give her pause and she blinked at her hand on his chest (was she truly that small?). Hades' words held merit and, when Persephone looked up again, her expression was of defiance and bravery, her fear falling away. "What would you have of me, my lord?"

"All of you," said he, a terrible fierceness graven on his face but for the gentleness with which his eyes caught hers, "save that which you keep from me."

Hades had never seen that expression on any woman - goddess or mortal or variation there of - when faced with him. She was courageous beyond his initial impression, and she cared not for the restrictions of Olympus' brood.

A terrible warmth would spread low in her belly at his reply and she reveled in it. She had never felt so wanted. Sure, many of the other gods demanded her attention, but the flowers were always so much more interesting to her. Now, it seemed the flowers at her feet were almost forgotten, save for the blood red glow they suddenly possessed. Persephone pressed herself to Hades, a hand still at his breast, her face tilted up to better look in his dark eyes. "Take me, then, Lord Hades, if that is your wish."

"It is." Tilting his head, he caught her lips with his, kissing her deeply with the desires of his heart. But he did not push further, his arms pulling her ever closer against him as a golden glow that faded to darkness surrounded them and the shadows shifted. Releasing her, his hand gently cupped her cheek, bringing her eyes to the world around them: the kingdom of death.

It was the rooftop of a gleaming golden palace to which he had whisked her away. Overlooking the entirety of the Underworld, the Fields of Punishment burnt with an unholy fire far in the distance and the Fields of Asphodel were ironically alive with the shades beyond the reach of death. The Isles of the Blest glowed brightly with the laughs and green meadows bestowed upon the heroes of old.

The sky, dark as the deepest night, was not unpleasant and the air had but a hint of sulphur and none of the acidity and smog of that of the cities of men. Aimless light glowed in passages, and mountains rose beyond the horizon.

She was pushed off kilter by his kiss (she had been kissed before, of course, by other gods and a few mortals, but where those were chaste, this was passionate), her whole world turning - quite literally. The change in surroundings goes unnoticed until he turned her head and her eyes go wide at the sight.

"I was unaware your home was so...lavish," she offered, unsure of her chosen vernacular, but she cannot think of a better description. It was cool and dark, but beautiful in an eery way associated with the theme: death.

His fingers traced patterns on her skin before falling to the small of her back where they wrote more stories than could ever be told. Tensing, he felt for the chill to run down her spine, for the tears begging to return. But there is none of that.

Hades drew his lady close, his eyes flickering between a warm tenderness and a cold hardness. "Our home," he corrected her, his voice holding no edge. "You will be my queen and have freedom in this realm with few exceptions."

"Our home?" she repeated with barely concealed shock. "Your queen? What is this? To whom do you refer? Certainly not Persephone, for I am of Olympus, my lord." Her eyes were narrowed, her hands trembled. She was angry - she had not agreed to actually staying.

Stifling his astonishment (was it not common knowledge, these rules of the world?) with a sigh, he held her hands steady, a mournful seriousness in his gaze. "There are laws in the realms of the gods, the living, and the dead. Just as the deceased may not leave the Underworld and return to the land of mortal men, gods cannot commit such acts. These are made to balance the powers of the universe. Every action is a transaction, a deal between oneself and the universe." His jaw worked, and he blinked quickly. "By agreeing to being taken, you have agreed to remain here for the rest of your days. Rare are those for which any but Hermes or I may travel the domains, and there are no exceptions."

Persephone shook her head forcefully. "No. No, you tricked me. Is that part of your game? Do you trick women into thinking they are desired? You are a cruel man, Hades." She tugged her hands from him, looking anywhere but his eyes. "Let me go this instant. My mother will claw her way here for me if she must!"

"This is no game," growled the Dark One, gruffness concealing vulnerability. Taking her shoulders, he pulled her to him. "I desire you, Persephone. Never have I desired so much, and never will I again."

He longed to force her blue eyes to met his. She was everything he'd never known he wanted: light and beauty incarnate. "Believe me."

"I cannot. Release me. I not belong here." Yet, as she spoke, she knew the words to be far from the truth. Her very being was drawn to the Underworld, even with the dank and dreary exposition. It needed her, just as she needed to stay, to be with the King.

She looked at him, fear creeping into her eyes finally. "My mother will come," she vowed, and dreaded for, when Demeter arrived, she would go back to being dead in the land of Olympus where she wanted to live in the realm of the afterlife.

Rage conquered his countenance, and the king turned away from her. "I cannot do that, and she cannot do that. If you've no desire to rule, there are other duties you can do."

Glaring back at her with eyes as cold as death, Hades said, "I've no desire for an unwilling queen. Despite what you've heard about me, even a monster does not want that."

Seething, Persephone clenched her fists at her side and forced herself to resist any of the acts of violence she imagined in her mind. It would not end well for her if clobbered him over the head as she wished to - she need only find a femur among the piles of rubbish and gore.

"You are hateful," she spat. Her arms went around herself protectively and she stepped back from Death. "If I am forced to stay here, where are my quarters?"

"Two more rules," intoned he, his back straight and his shoulders tensed. "One: you will not question my comings and goings. They are my own. Two: you will eat of nothing. You will not hunger, and if anything in the Underworld tempts you, it is not for you."

With his dark eyes fixed on her blue ones, Hades clapped his hands, summoning the invisible servants of his palace. "You will be shown to your chambers. I bid you farewell, Lady Persephone."

With an outraged shout, Persephone made to lunge at Hades, prepared to claw his eyes out, but one of the servants suddenly had a hold on one of her arms. Surprised, she gasped and struggled but it was of no use. Persephone cried out, her eyes welling with tears, and she screamed, her body dragged. "I hate you," she wailed, desperately wanting to rip out Hades' throat. She cried harder then, disgusted with herself.

As she was taken away, he turned back, striding away from the disgrace he'd created. For once in his immortal existence, he was ashamed. What thoughtless deed had he committed? He should've known he couldn't have trusted his instincts. What woman in her right mind could love him? He wasn't strong like Ares or handsome like Zeus. Despite being second eldest, he'd always been the runt with the poor luck - so poor that he drew the Underworld in the lots. If he'd drawn Olympus or even the seas, perhaps she'd at least desist in her hate. She'd love him for his realm. Instead, he'd brought her to a mausoleum, leaving her to wither and die in this place. With a snap of his fingers, he left the dreaded scene. He'd always hated tragedies, and those in his life were no different than those in men's plays.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, so... Explanation. My dear Ara put up with me whining about Rumbelle so much, and then she let me cry to her about Hades and Persephone, for which she also cried for. So, in conclusion, we joined forces and put the two elements together. I couldn't be more excited about this piece. I've never done a collab fic before, so this will be really fun! Hope you enjoy just as much as we've enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Much love,  
> Kayla


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